Now, Tell Me What You Know of the Vampire Alucard
by death-in-the-orchard
Summary: During Abraham van Hellsing's time - Arthur is trained by his uncle, Van Hellsing, prior to being introduced to the Vampire Alucard.
1. Chapter 1

"Now, repeat what you know about the Vampire Alucard."

A vague sense of weariness for his uncle's demands began to cloud Arthur's head, sucking any inspirational spark that might have led him to respond with any sort of alacrity or ability to impress. It was not the demands themselves that bothered Arthur. No, the demands were irritating, but easily humored. Old men liked to make demands, to compensate for their dwindling competence. It was the excessive caution his uncle exhibited, and the unending torrent of repetitive lectures that this caution seemed to sustain. But like any man in his mid-twenties who possessed the common misbelief that he was a reasonable and capable adult, Arthur complied with the instruction, with a derisive and self-satisfying thought or two about his, somewhat, sufferable relative, "I know of the creature's origins. Its weaknesses. Enough about the seal to-"

"You know nothing of the seal." As though crushing a scrambling roach, Abraham's palm slammed down against the back of Arthur's cushioned reading chair. A moment passed before Abraham resumed pacing the room. If Abraham had just slapped him with a wet rag, the contradiction could not have been more abrupt or more dampening on Arthur's incentive to humor his uncle. They eyed one another, Arthur to determine whether his uncle was indeed angry about his presumptive claim, and Abraham to see whether Arthur would respond with a proper, comprehending neutrality to his curt correction. Whatever their individual conclusions were, Abraham waved his nephew on. "You know nothing of the seal, but the rest was fine."

Clearly more irritated than before, Arthur sighed, "The demon is corruptive, but respects those who resist it. It is impatient with those who are slow to speak, those who fail to exhibit a natural inclination towards integrity, and those who doubt their actions and carry their regrets openly. The-"

Abraham interrupted again, with an assertion Arthur had only heard a mere thirty times before. Arthur watched his uncle's gestures and counted, for a while, how many times he clenched his fist in emphasis, "The Vampire Alucard has a sharp and (clench) cunning mind – a (clench) Man's intellect resides in its skull, conjoined with its demonic instincts that (clench) drive it towards wretchedness. That (clench) Man's intellect, however, was already tainted by madness while the creature still 'lived'. It will read your regrets and (clench) use them to destabilize the reasoning that had previously legitimized your choices, and (clench) thusly cause you to question and doubt your own powers of reasoning…"

Arthur naturally tuned out the concluding remarks of the interruption. In general, his uncle was almost irritatingly quiet; barely more than a growl could be coaxed out of him on any topic that did not involve his work. And when it came to the vampire, Sir Hellsing seemed inclined to divulge his every observation, every theory, and every single running suspicion he had concerning his slave. It was as though Abraham wanted to recruit every able bodied mind to keep guard and undermine the monster, should it ever actually make an attempt at some treachery. Yes, Arthur could comprehend how a five hundred year old monster could be a handful, a constant source of anxiety well equipped to give birth to obsession, given that the demon's bottled wrath was widely expected to unleash itself like a burst dam upon the Hellsing family, should some lapse in the demon's perpetual confinement allow it to seek the vengeance it thirsted after.

Yes. They would all be slaughtered. _No_ , Arthur snorted as his uncle's voice surfaced in his thoughts, _No, the Vampire Alucard would not simply kill us. No Arthur, you underestimate the wretchedness of the decrepit mind and the depths of its lusts and hatred. It would torture us, tear us apart mentally by exploiting every weakness the wretch has ever witnessed – and that is why your conduct should be understood as a performance – you are a construct, not a human being. A construct- Arthur, maintain eye contact, it's good practice for when you have to speak with the vampire. A construct, has no weaknesses. It has no qualms or doubts. Every bodily expression and every word from your mouth must be (clench) predetermined._

Arthur knew he must have been smiling, or making some equally disagreeable expression, because he found Abraham staring at him, his ancient, lined mouth flatter than a vampiric pulse. Arthur composed himself and assumed the 'construct' and 'performed' attentiveness quite charmingly. He well-understood the meticulous art of feigning charm and deference, having practiced it effectually through twenty or so years of formal education. Any account on his character made by any one of his past professors would have depicted an angelic, Edwardian gentleman with no discernible faults. Arthur, meanwhile, was gentle, perhaps, with women who wanted him to be gentle, but he was keen on sustaining a life of bachelorhood, private indulgences, and controlled vice. But he was sturdy, not unintelligent – even by Abraham's standards – and he was the only suitable human being who contained Hellsing blood. The blood was invaluable, and had disqualified every (otherwise) more qualified candidate. That was why Arthur Hellsing had been selected to inherit his uncle's organization, and had been written into his will barely three years before.

Abraham sighed, and left Arthur where he was sitting comfortably in the armchair, and stood behind his desk. He patted the back of his own chair, and spoke coolly. "Imagine that I am the Vampire Alucard," Abraham's lips curled at Arthur's quirky look of disbelief and joyless surprise. "So. ...Here I am, the Vampire Alucard." His hands raised as though in exultation of some pagan deity, and then fell carelessly to slap against his sides. "What is your expression right now?"

Tongue tied, as though he'd been asked to recall some neglected Greek or Latin exercise, Arthur's mouth moved and then shut to then open again, and then purse with an indignant and outright refusal to comply, rather than admit he had been caught off guard. Abraham's smile lit Arthur's frustration and heated it to a point of barely contained fury.

At Abraham's laugh, Arthur snapped back with a defensive growl, somehow impersonating the hissing tone of a sulking cat, "You can't expect me to-"

"I can expect anything from you," Abraham's voice seemed louder than before, as though he were speaking over a bellyful of withheld laughter, "Do you know why?"

Arthur continued to bristle.

Abraham snorted and professed with glee, "I am the Vampire Alucard! And I see you, and your poutiness, and how I've offended you without expending _any_ effort of my own. I intimidate you-"

"No," Arthur disagreed in turns, refuting Abraham with souring grimaces and glowers.

"I do intimidate you-"

"No, I have done nothing to even suggest-"

"You have done nothing, yes! Correct Arthur! Because I have paralyzed you! You are terrified-"

"I am _not_ that, Sir-"

"Terrified!" Abraham clapped, laughing without minding the rage that began to color Arthur's face. "You are, in fact, terrified. And do you know how I know that?"

"No," Arthur hissed, "No. How about you enlighten me?"

Ignoring the blatant disrespect, Abraham clasped his hands, grinning at Arthur. And, with a sinking feeling, Arthur felt as though he knew what was going to come.

"I am the Vampire Alucard! That's how I know!"

Arthur shook his head, seething as he grumbled and complained to himself, feeling cheated as he had no chance to defend himself. His uncle was mad, or too arrogant to forgo belittling his heir so as to remain confident of his superiority. Those were his thoughts, and his means of nursing his wounded sense of wisdom and maturity.


	2. Chapter 2

The dining hall was frigid. The fireplace was as cold and empty as an undead grave, and had been since the evening before. With the deliberately chilled air roughening his skin, Arthur looked at his uncle with tired eyes and loose, somewhat untidy hair. Abraham merely gestured for him to sit at the table.

"Hurry, the food is growing cold."

 _Of course it is, and so am I._ Arthur barely waited for Abraham to finish, "It's 7 o'clock, I haven't eaten breakfast-"

"Psh," Abraham made a dismissive sound with his mouth as he pulled out the chair; taking his nephew's shoulders, he 'helped' him into it. When Arthur opened his mouth to comment, there was a sudden thrust behind the chair that scooted him sharply into the table. It forced Arthur to lurch forward, so his face came dangerously close to indenting his steak and potatoes. The peas, he would have missed by a mile.

Arthur said nothing, straightening and smoothing back his hair as Abraham lectured.

"You'll rarely have to deal with the vampire while you're eating breakfast. The scents and tastes would be wildly inaccurate. Breakfast, would ruin the exercise. Now," Abraham stepped back until he stood in a shadow, which was cast against the wall by means of an awkwardly arranged cupboard. The cupboard looked entirely out of place pressed against the curtains that were currently laboring to keep out the morning sunlight. This effect was likely due to the fact that the cupboard generally occupied the opposite side of the room. Not even Van Hellsing would permanently place a cupboard in front of a perfectly good window.

Arthur scowled at the table for a time, but when his patience broke he twisted about in his chair and frowned at his uncle. The smirk he discovered on Abraham's face lowered his voice, "Why don't you sit down? How am I supposed to eat with you grinning at the back of my head?"

Abraham's expression faltered and then beamed as he laughed, "Asking the Vampire Alucard to 'sit down' with you?" His fit of humor carried on much longer than Arthur was willing to tolerate.

"I don't see the point of this exercise-"

"You need practice."

"You look like a clown," Arthur said, without regret.

Abraham no longer laughed. But the humor remained, though several shades darker than before. "A clown, am I? Arthur Hellsing."

Arthur stiffened and squinted at the deepened voice, the tone and accent distinctly altered. He wanted to ask as plainly as possible, _What are you on about now?_ But couldn't manage something so crude.

"I am the Vampire Alucard, and you have done nothing to earn my respect. If I do not respect you, I will resist you at every turn (clench)," by now Abraham had broken character and Arthur sighed as he listened with visible reluctance, "I will wear you down, Arthur Hellsing. Unless I am to some extent satisfied with you."

"Bother," Arthur huffed into his hand, having turned back to his food. He picked at it with his fork, entirely disinterested.

Abraham grunted, "Well. You seem to have no appetite. I take it that you are so distressed by my presence, that you are incapable of eating." He laughed, "Fine then. All I need to do is appear behind you at every meal, until you starve to death."

Arthur cut off a piece of meat and placed it in his mouth. He chewed it without enjoyment.

Abraham grew dull with disappointment. "Arthur, sit up, eat like a gentleman. And take this seriously. The joke has run its course. Now, I am the Vampire Alucard, and I am evaluating you. What is your expression? What does your posture say? Do you chew excessively? Too little, so that you choke? Or do you chew just the right amount?"

With each question, Arthur - who had straightened on command - gradually wilted with annoyance. He straightened, however, when a backwards glance showed him his uncle's wavering temper. 'Taking this seriously,' as Abraham had put it, Arthur began to eat civilly, and to imagine what it would be like to have the vampire at his back.

The cold began to affect him then, and his stomach, unaccustomed to heavy food so early in the day, felt heavy and uncomfortable. Arthur blinked without commenting on these observations, instead delving into his uncle's designs.

Cold... A general dimness of light. The annoyance and nagging anxiety of being closely watched, and judged by incomprehensible standards. These were meant to recreate the vampire's presence? He wondered. Arthur pursed his lips and attempted to eat, cutting with his knife, his teeth grating as though echoing the harsh screeches and scratches of his silverware against the plate.

It was unlikely his uncle would purposely instill in him something as maladaptive as paranoia; that would be tantamount to sabotage. He ate and continued to think, as the faint anxiety that had fluttered hesitantly at the back of his head strengthened to a static that grew louder and louder, until it disrupted his thoughts and he turned back and stared at his uncle.

A chill, apart from the room, raised the hairs on his covered arms. Abraham stood expressionless, silent, and unmoving. When he finally blinked, Arthur sighed and rubbed at his eye, "I had to make the trip out here before dawn. I'm really too tired-"

"No," Abraham said, "You are not too tired. Put in some effort, so I don't have to restart the exercise. Again." He meant to go on, but couldn't when Arthur cut in.

"If you allowed me to sleep here, I could begin at the same time, while getting the rest I need."

Abraham sniffed, the chill having begun to affect him. "No," he said, "You can't meet the vampire until you are ready."

"Order the thing to stay away then," Arthur swatted at the air, as though to demonstrate.

"It can feel you, and begin to assess you, so long as it is awake. Right now, it sleeps. So now is the time for us to conduct our exercises." Abraham waited for some additional comment. None came.


	3. Chapter 3

Cramped by the sweeping coats and rattling carts of researchers hurrying this way and that in the well-lit corridor, Arthur couldn't help but look about as he followed his uncle's stolid back.

Abraham too would cast glances, as needed to avoid colliding with a cart, but his steady stride never faltered the way Arthur's did: every other moment. Abraham noticed this without turning, and so spoke without turning, irrespective of how much distance Arthur's lingering had stretched between them. He described the doings of the Hellsing underworld. Not in great detail, but enough to give a cursory overview of the various departments and the main projects, which were either ongoing or on hiatus. While Abraham was expressing his bitterness over some wrong the Council had enacted against a pet project, Arthur began to listen to a ruckus emitted by one of the doorways they were approaching.

Foreign banter, booming laughs and clipped retorts in Russian, grew in volume. Arthur wasn't attending to Abraham at all by this point, waiting instead with an eager boyishness to see what the fuss might be about. A smile jumped to his face, as a hulking mass of a man sidled through a door, and sidled towards them. Abraham seemed to swerve to bypass him, but the man was armed with a plaque of some sort. With all the waving and good-natured arguing the man blasted into his uncle's face, Arthur strained to see how this plaque could inspire such zealous barking and stamping and waving of arms and swaying of shoulders. It was as entertaining as it was intimidating to watch.

Abraham winced away, retreating a step as he was caught off guard and forced to brace himself.

The chemist beat a thick finger against a thermometer (which was part of the plaque) as he bent over his commander, "-says 20°C! How am I to be making my reactions with this-!" He punctuated his demand with the thermometer.

Here Abraham paused, his face scrunching as though drawn tight by his souring confusion. "This was fixed to the wall," Abraham reached out to touch the 'plaque,' but the Russian suddenly cradled it and sidled a ways back, out of reach. The chemist stared at Abraham, in all appearances petrified by either the realization or the guilt that must come from such an observation when it has been made by one's superior. Scratching his cheek, Abraham sighed, and then gestured towards the door to the chemist lab. "I will come to you later. But for now-" he maneuvered the same gesture, somehow, towards his nephew who was still staring at the Russian, "this is Arthur. Arthur, meet our head chemist."

No name had been given, but Arthur forgot this peculiarity as Abraham stepped aside and the hulking Russian sidled awkwardly in and groped for Arthur's hand – presumably to shake it. The hand was given over to the Russian, and subsequently shaken. When it was properly strangled (within an inch of its life), the hand was released and the Russian spoke some phrases Arthur's English, Latin, and German vocabularies were not equipped to comprehend. The Russian sidled off after this one-sided exchange, and ducked into his lab. The door was shut as Abraham and Arthur passed it.

It did not take them long to reach their destination. Slipping through an inconspicuous door, they entered the prepping area, which led to the surgery room. Through a windowed double door that offered a view of the surgery room, Arthur could see two nude female corpses laid out on mortician tables.

Abraham was conversing with the surgeon who would be leading the dissection. The doctor was sealed within a protective suit, a pair of gloves, some shoe coverings, a face mask, and a hair net. Abraham was enclosing himself in an identical surgical vessel when the surgeon appeared distracted. Discovering how his nephew had decided to occupy himself, Abraham called out to him sharply, frowning as Arthur started and then hurried over to the pile of protective clothing he was supposed to be pulling on. With a sigh, Abraham nodded at the surgeon's gesture to offer Arthur some help.

Arthur had just put his suit on backwards.


End file.
